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another lesson in loss

By February 22, 2016June 30th, 2017Uncategorized

another lesson in loss

I can barely breath. An anvil sits on my chest. I think of other things and lighten a bit, but they are fleeting. He is what is on my mind, on my chest, in my heart, in my very being. Oh there are so many stories of unrequited love! It could make me feel silly if I could breath. Grief is heavy. There is no sun today; appropriate as there is no sun in my house or in my heart today either.


What I am doing is allowing all emotions to arise, to be present with myself, let things move of their natural accord. No grasping, no pushing away. Last night I tried to sit in the beauty of my need for love. (NVC/compassionate communication speak.) Then I realized it’s to soon. Mourning is what is here. I shall allow it to be here, just as I shall allow the song of the dove I am hearing outside to touch me on the inside. It’s song sounds like mourning.


My senses feel bereft of beauty, joy and lightness. It’s ok. This too shall pass. Meanwhile, taking care of myself in the deepest way I can muster is essential. Part of that care is acceptance of what is, moment to moment. Part of it is not beating myself up for anything – even if it feels like escapism. Part of it is sitting in a hot bath with candlelight, journaling, giving myself the time and space to be present with myself without distraction, self-empathy, going to the desert/simply being in Nature, listening…


A poem written by my dear friend Sky.  Feels like it came straight from my heart today. 



: a sound as soft

as snow sliding from a roof;

: a pain as heavy

as an avalanche’s white thunder.



: a full measure of loss and regret —

an empty space in the pattern of life,

a void of now un-ask-able questions.


This grief

gathers other griefs,

as geese gather

to honk and splash and disturb the calm.

My tears,

droplets shaken free

of their pond,

fall for you and what might have been.



: all the griefs of my heart

frozen in the numbness of my winter.


When the spring comes,

in its time,

the geese will fly,

trailing feathers.

I will gather them,

a soft nest

for my heart

in the warmth of the thaw.


~ Kathryn Sky Roshay



Carolyn Ringo

Author Carolyn Ringo

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Join the discussion 4 Comments

  • Heather Snow says:

    It is an incredible act of healing to allow all the feelings and not have to analyze them. Good work my friend.

  • Lark Abel says:

    Hello Carolyn,
    It takes great courage to go with the grief and really be in touch with your feelings. You know this. My friend taught me that feelings are sign posts. If we do not go thru the grief, the trauma, to its depths, we rarely come out the other side into peace and knowingness. We simply need to just be with it. No pushing away, no time frame. I have a strong feeling you will come back to full joy in direct proportion to your wiliness to experience the grief. I did not know who I really was ( a divine magnificent being , as we all are) until I got so deep into self loathing that I found out what I was not. I was believing feelings that were based on untruth. The evolvement into self love was a hard won gift.Your sadness and honesty has touched me. Part of me goes to a place of protectiveness for you even though I barely know you. My teacher finally got thru to me that as an empath even though my heart wants to, it is not our job to fix anyone . I can be the light though and reflect a persons divine essence. I can say that when I told you ” I see who you are” I saw that: You are beautiful, elegant, grace full, bold in your strong sense of dignity and integrity . Your willingness to be so honest and share your grieve is refreshing and healthy for others. You show yourself a teacher and a student. We all benefit from this stance. I look to see you and send you love. Namaste, Lark

    • says:

      I appreciate being “seen” by you Lark. Your presence is strong and I take your words to heart. I have such a good feeling about your learning self love. This is what I endeavor to live and teach. Thank you for lending me your strength. Many blessings, Carolyn

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